The Hand of Eris

[Chirakis 1]

The Hand of Eris

 

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”

~Ephesians 6:12

 

Chaos. Stronger than any weapon forged by mortals, it is the primal void, the yawning, the chasm of nothingness from which springs darkness and the abyss. Some say that what happens in the heavens bears fruit in the actions of those who inhabit the universe. If that were true, the chaos that now threatened Starfleet, the Federation, the Allied Powers, and all within the quadrant had spawned from a battle in the heavenlies. One seed had sprouted many shoots, producing innumerable tendrils that threatened to choke the very life out of sanity.

 

Every generation spawns a master of chaos, and this generation was no different. It began subtly, weaving its way from one nefarious organization to another. As their power grew, so did their egos. Soon their work crept into buried areas of government, and eventually fell into the welcoming, outstretched hand of Eris, the mistress of strife and discord who waited patiently for her plan to flower.

 

Eris smiled. The unsuspecting were enamored of her beauty and her promises. Eventually her influence spread from the minions of governments to the heads of state and the governments’ vanguards. From that she birthed the Argisil Conspiracy, so named for the location of the first evidence of a high Federation official’s questionable practices. Argesil became a catchphrase for anything connected to the evidence or to the officials’ dealings, however remote. In short, it was the Federation’s Watergate.

 

Intrigue and suspicion built for decades, but a modicum of control prevailed until recently, when accusations against the government bled into the military infrastructure, the seams of command unraveled, heads rolled, and conspiracy theories of complicity implicated the governments and military of most of the Joint Allied powers. Soon secret weapons trades, surreptitious technology exchanges, and criminal infiltration of various Allied governments had spread well beyond their bounds.

 

And Eris smiled.

 

Her hand successfully spawned discord from the inside, but, hungering for more, she focused her talents on the poor, the bitter, and the disenfranchised. She rallied the former Breen slaves.

 

Finally free to roam and mold their own destinies, those who had been oppressed by the Breen lusted for strength and power. They lurked in the shadows of the stringed nebulae, gathering allies as they moved from one area to another, then settled on the one place that would give them the perfect staging ground for conquest on the outskirts of the ripest fruit in the galaxy: Sky Harbor Aegis.

 

Eris smiled, and the battle began.

 

Wave upon wave of the Alien Alliance swept across Aegis space to attack the station, itself disenfranchised by the Argesil Conspiracy. Were it not for the allies who valued their vows and came to her aid, the station would have easily fallen, but it did not. After twenty-two hours of assault by an overwhelming force, out of sheer determination, the smaller forces of Aegis and its allies prevailed and destroyed the alien ships. Though their defenses wearied, the defenders did not yield.

 

Eris’ smile faded. She turned her gaze elsewhere. The battle was not yet over.

 

From a fairly secluded area of Missouri’s bridge, a fighter pilot by the name of Chirakis Kirel stared at the image of Sky Harbor Aegis splayed across the main viewscreen. On either side, similar screens highlighted areas of Alien Alliance infiltration and strategic positions of defense. Conspicuously missing were the red dots of the infiltrators, their positions blocked by unknown technology.

 

Kirel could hardly breathe. Her anger grew exponentially as the station rotated slowly, Missouri’s enhanced magnification giving an intimate view of the station’s interior, alert lights flashing in passageways emptied by the lockdown. She began to pace her confined area, oblivious to bridge personnel, reasoning that pacing was better than screaming Klingon expletives at the unseen intruders who held captive the most vulnerable of all… the children!

 

And Eris smiled.

 

Her quarry brooded in silence, wondering why she had not seen this coming. Why had she not read the signs? Riov Ja’lan t’Aldani of the Tal Shiar delivered a datacrystal from Rendezvous October, but its contents made no sense… until now. And now was too late. They have her child! T’Aldani’s child. Tr’Korjata’s child. They have Annisha, and I am responsible.

 

Feeling helpless, inadequate, and trapped far from the strategic area she should control an direct, Kirel continued to pace, the gentle whoosh of her flight suit emphasizing every move. The children. Kahless! They target the children.

 

“Captain Chirakis.”

 

Wrenched from her thoughts, Kirel spun toward Captain d’Ka, who now occupied Missouri’s command chair. His eyes were violet in anger and determination—possibly the same anger she felt. Weariness lined his face, and his flight suit lay on the deck next to him—all remnants of the last 22 hours they had spent fighting the Alliance from Drakkor until an asteroid decided to dephase immediately in front of them and Missouri came to their rescue.

 

“Yes, Captain?” she said finally.

 

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable in my ready room.” It was clear that his words were not a suggestion.

 

“Of course, Captain,” she replied, gathering her helmet and her wits before heading to the door. But when the door slid open, the tragedy became more real. Aegis loomed not as a viewscreen image, but as a real presence outside the observation window. Moreover, Missouri’s orbit drifted close enough that even more of Aegis’ interior was clearly visible, making the situation all the more real.

 

Kirel slammed her fist against the transparent aluminum viewport, swung around and hurled her helmet across the room where it bounced on the deck, ricocheted against the coffee table and landed askew on the couch. Tearing into her flight suit with a vengeance, she stripped it off, and slammed it against a bulkhead as she uttered a string of Klingon obscenities.

 

And Eris smiled.

 

Longing for her Galitari ceremonial dagger, Kirel plotted against the assailants. She knew every secluded area of the park and exactly where she would hide. With measured stealth in her approach, her footfalls would be as silent as a Sindar’s, her black uniform melting into the shadows as she calculated their numbers, planned her angle of attack for maximum effect, and waited for the perfect moment. Then she would silently step from her cover. The dagger’s long, curved blade in position, her free hand would grasp the alien’s mouth from behind, pulling the head securely to her shoulder while she dragged him into the shadows. One swift slice around the neck would silence its cry and spurt its lifeblood while its headless body collapsed unceremoniously to the….

 

“Stop!”

 

D’Ka’s telepathic command cut as swiftly and efficiently through her mind as her dagger. She gasped and sank to the deck.

 

And Eris smiled.

 

“Enl’licdh. Storage cabinet. Top shelf. Now. Before I throw you out an airlock.”

 

One hand rubbed her neck to ease the pain as she gulped the air against a blackout. When she regained her strength, she apologized, groped for the decanter, and poured a glass. As soon as the brandy’s medicinal fumes escaped, her mind cleared. Its warmth settled in, and she began to sip, allowing it to temper her thoughts. Several minutes later she had relaxed enough to think clearly and wonder how the hidden desires that she had buried for so long had suddenly consumed her.

 

“When you have regained your composure, you may return to the bridge,” d’Ka projected. “We could use your expertise.”

 

“Of course, Captain,” she replied aloud, setting the brandy aside. “On my way.”